3.5 stars. Rated PG, for dramatic intensity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 3.29.19
1941’s Dumbo, Walt Disney’s fourth animated film, is a simple little fable powered by the loving bond between mother and child. The story carries some powerful messages: the importance of believing in one’s self, along with a gentle nod toward inclusion.
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| The moment of truth: With a capacity crowd breathlessly awaiting "something they've never seen before," little Dumbo is encouraged by his friends — from left, Joe (Finley Hobbins), Milly (Nico Parker) and Holt (Colin Farrell) — to go out and do what he does best. |
It also features one of the saddest scenes in Disney animated history, set to the poignant Ned Washington/Frank Churchill song “Baby Mine.”
Disney purists likely were uneasy at the news that a live-action remake was coming from Tim Burton, whose flamboyantly macabre sensibilities were far better suited to his 2010 handling of Alice in Wonderland. Burton, overseeing this sweetly gentle tale?
In fairness, Burton gets it right … for a bit.
The story is set in 1919, as the rag-tag Medici Bros. Circus kicks off another season on the road. Disneyphiles are guaranteed to smile when this travel montage is set to an orchestral Danny Elfman theme that includes snatches of Casey Junior’s song, as the plucky engine pulls the entire entourage in its clickety-clack wake.
The circus is run by irascible ringmaster Maximillian Medici (Danny DeVito) — there is no “Brother,” of course — who’s forever bedeviled by the resident Shakespeare-spouting capuchin monkey, Barrymore. Aside from the other animal stars, the troupe features the usual assortment of faux “wonders”: snake charmer Pramesh Singh (Roshan Seth), heavily muscled Rongo the Strongo (DeObia Oparei) and mermaid Miss Atlantis (Sharon Rooney), among others.
They all keep an eye on children Milly and Joe (Nico Parker and Finley Hobbins), who anxiously greet every train at all their stops along the way, hoping that their father Holt (Colin Farrell) will be among the soldiers returning from the war. (As is cruel Disney custom, their mother is dead, having succumbed to influenza.) When Holt finally does show up, their relief is undercut by the realization that his left arm was a war casualty.
The loss has left him bitter, and he’s uneasy around his children: the typical man who always left such matters to his wife. As a further twist of the knife, Holt — once a star attraction, as a skilled horseback rider — has no job, Max having sold the horses to keep the tottering circus financially afloat.
Such gloomy tidings are shunted aside by the arrival of the circus’ newest attraction: the baby just born to elephant Mrs. Jumbo. Alas, this youngster has freakishly oversize ears, much to Max’s dismay, and the sneering taunts of cruel handler Rufus Sorghum (Phil Zimmerman). The circus performers, accustomed to being regarded as outsiders themselves, find nothing to laugh at.
Whereupon we hit this film’s first potential problem.
The original Dumbo is laden with pathos, to be sure, but it’s animated; a certain degree of emotional distance is involved, no matter how much we identify with the character. But this new film’s CGI stars — courtesy of visual effects supervisor Richard Stammers — look, sound and move with a level of reality that wins our immediate acceptance of them, as actual creatures.
In which case, the subsequent events are relentlessly, cruelly, painfully distressing. To his credit, Elfman doesn’t dwell; even so, Ehren Kruger’s script gets pretty grim. The inevitable “Baby Mine” scene is quite heartbreaking.
Milly and Joe take comfort in their new roles as little Dumbo’s best friends (taking over from the animated film’s Timothy Q. Mouse). They’re present when, following an explosive sneeze, Dumbo bounces backwards into clumsy flight: hovering far longer than mere physics could justify. “He was this far off the ground!” Joe insists, to his disbelieving father.
No matter. Dumbo gets another chance to demonstrate his unusual skill, at which point Max realizes financial salvation is at hand.
Up until now, Burton’s film — and Rick Heinrichs’ production design — have maintained the romantic innocence and cheerful, ramshackle atmosphere of a rag-tag circus troupe, where everybody is ferociously loyal to everybody else. It’s the Toby Tyler vibe: a slice of early 20th century itinerant performance life that doesn’t exist anymore.
Enter entertainment entrepreneur V.A. Vandevere (Michael Keaton), who has caught wind of Max’s new star attraction.
At which point, Burton’s film morphs into something entirely different. And not for the better.
We expect the smarmy Keaton’s Vandevere to be an opportunistic swindler who’ll beguile Max, somehow appropriate Dumbo, and generate all manner of fresh calamities. We don’t expect all this to take place in Vandevere’s futuristic, amazingly opulent, big-city amusement park. Even more of an eyebrow-lift, Vandevere’s Dreamland is Disneyland in all but name, down to its various “lands,” the rides therein, signage style and pretty much anything else one could mention.
Goodness, there’s even an ersatz Carousel of Progress, to the delight of science-minded Milly, who dreams of becoming the next Madame Curie.
This is an offensively crass level of commercial exploitation. It’s not cute or clever; it’s insufferable: a glaring reminder that this film is no more than a cynical corporate product.
Artistically, this tonal shift rips us right out of the story. We’re no longer enjoying a quaint little circus story; we’ve been teleported into a glitzy superhero epic, which (inevitably) will lead to the deafening destruction of considerable personal property.
Our central characters — Holt, his children, Max and Dumbo — are overwhelmed by subsequent events in their own saga.
Such a shame.
Only one good thing emerges from this overwrought second half: Eva Green’s arrival as Colette Marchant, Vandevere’s showcase aerial artist. As garbed by costume designer Colleen Atwood, Green has the haughty, slightly sinister bearing that makes her a perfect Burton femme fatale; indeed, Colette sniffs condescendingly when introduced to Holt and his children.
Funny thing, though. In one of this film’s many cases of sloppy writing, Colette thaws with astonishing swiftness. I give Green credit: She handles her character’s abrupt personality shift credibly … but it still makes no sense.
Farrell works hard to maintain the essential level of grounded emotional pathos. We feel for Holt; his plight is realistic, as is his uncertain effort to bond with his children. Farrell also excels at silent anguish; we frequently read dismay and disappointment in Holt’s features. And yet — of course! — he also has Farrell’s Irish charm.
Keaton behaves pretty much as he did back in 1988’s Beetlejuice. Vandevere isn’t a credible human being; he’s a hyper-energized cartoon character. It’s entertaining — particularly with respect to Keaton’s rapid-fire delivery of Vandevere’s silver-tongued blarney — but it doesn’t fit.
Neither does Joseph Gatt’s late entry as Vandevere’s nasty hunter-in-residence, the Nazi-esque Skellig, with his fondness for elephant-hide shoes.
The beguilingly exotic Parker — also a classic Burton “look” — makes an engaging young heroine. Milly is smart, resourceful and brave; Parker gives her the precocious bearing of a girl forced to grow up quickly. Hobbins, alas, is colorless by comparison: a tag-along whose role feels superfluous.
The always adorable Alan Arkin pops up late in the game, as powerful banker J. Griffin Remington.
Which brings us to Dumbo himself, who’s simply amazing: completely realistic, and granted a full personality solely via shy smiles, a trusting gaze and the persuasively realistic behavior of a young animal inquisitively exploring each new environment. We do live in an age of cinematic wonders.
If only Burton and Kruger had been true to Dumbo’s origins.
Because when this film shifts into its ill-advised second half, its heart is left behind.
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